


A Bargain for a Prince

by White_Rainbow



Series: Operation: Galactic Gambit [9]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi
Genre: But Krennic's Adult Toy Shop is discussed briefly, Krennic sexy dancing, M/M, Not really Mature rated, Piett and Jabba meet for the first time, Rescue Missions, SlugAdmiral - Freeform, So I made it Mature, Tarkin needs to rescue Krennic, Tarkrennic - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 13:16:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11314176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rainbow/pseuds/White_Rainbow
Summary: Writing Prompt: Krennic gets kidnapped by the Hutt Cartel as they are mad at him for monopolizing the sex toy market via his "Uncle Krennic" business. Tarkin has to rescue his spoilt prince and crush any Hutt that gets in the way.





	A Bargain for a Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FesteringSilence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FesteringSilence/gifts), [EustaceS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EustaceS/gifts).



> What started as a Prompt for Tarkrennic suddenly became a "First Meeting" story for Piett and Jabba. We both fell in love with EustaceS's idea for inventing SlugAdmiral and thus decided to put it into our "BlueberryCoconut" universe: "Operation: Galactic Gambit"  
> So...here it is! This is how Piett and Jabba first met...and how Tarkin was able to get Krennic out of a sticky situation...again... :3

“I do not feel comfortable with this, sir,” Piett confessed, eyeing the gargantuan gate leading to Jabba’s Palace.

“You mean you are uncomfortable with walking into a notorious gangster’s den to assist me in retrieving my idiot husband?” Tarkin asked, sourly.

“No, I am uncomfortable with  _ you _ walking into a notorious gangster’s den, sir. You should have sent...I do not know... _ anyone... _ else in your stead. Vader, for instance. He knows Huttese as well as I.”

“Out of the question,” Tarkin snapped, but then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “In any case, Vader refused to come. This is a...delicate matter, captain. And it must be handled with care. I need to do this myself.”

Piett sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“Just follow my lead,” Tarkin said, straightening Piett’s rumpled bomber jacket. Even as he tugged at the collar it fell loosely over the captain’s slender shoulders. “And let me do all the talking.”

“Unless I am translating in Huttese,” Piett clarified.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Tarkin huffed. “Trust me, if I had another officer who spoke Huttese as fluently as you, he would be standing in your place right now.”

Although Piett knew Tarkin's remark was intended to be apologetic, it still stung that the grand moff would have preferred someone else at his side. Piett suppose he could not blame the man. Captain Firmus Piett was not exactly an imposing figure. Dressing as a bounty hunter should have helped, but it did little to make him look intimidating. 

Tarkin not only looked like a bounty hunter, but he looked like a veteran hunter who had seen plenty of action in his years. He donned a well-worn long coat, with a tailored, crimson vest and a pair of broken-in leather chaps. Bones and braids of hair hung from his belt and a row of teeth lined the band of his wide-brimmed fedora. Most of the trophies, Piett knew, were ones Tarkin had earned himself on Eriadu. 

To be perfectly honest, the older man looked rather dashing and...adventurous. 

Piett, meanwhile, looked like a child struggling to fit into his father’s clothes. His jacket brushed his knuckles and he had to constantly roll them back up, his belt hung slanted on his narrow waist, and his shirt was baggy and torn. The goggles Tarkin had insisted he wear to hide his face practically covered most of his cheeks and forehead. 

Still, the young captain held his head high and gave Tarkin a reassuring nod. 

“I will do my best, sir.”

Tarkin clapped him on the shoulder. “There's a good lad.”

The colossal double doors of Jabba's Palace opened with a ominous groan. Bib Fortuna and a pair of Gamorrean guards waited for them on the other side. 

Tarkin stepped forward and tipped his hat at to the red-eyed twi’lek, his face sinking further beneath the scarf that obscured his mouth, nose and iconic cheekbones.

“Hi there. We’re Kre’ah Shorn and Thren Renfor. We’re here to get a looksee at some slave dancers for our employer,” Tarkin said in a surprisingly convincing Wild Space accent, though Piett bit his cheek to keep himself from grinning. 

Bib’s lip curled in disgust, exposing a row of jagged teeth. “ _ Jabba is expecting you, _ ” he spat in Huttese.

Tarkin tilted his head towards Piett who whispered the translation to him.

“Thank ya kindly,” Tarkin nodded and Piett quickly gave a Huttese word of thanks.

The pair followed the twi'lek into the palace down a long corridor, their boots grinding noisily against the coarse, sandy ground. Occasionally their loud footfalls were interrupted by the crunch of insects that skittered across their path. 

The walls had very little decorum save for a few carvings that could have been remnant of the ancient people that lived in the palace prior to the Hutt's occupation. Moss and mildew left sickly green and white patches in every nook and cranny, and despite being an arid wasteland outside, the palace’s air was thick and misty.

T arkin held his fingers under his scarf-covered nose as if the humid air offended him. Piett, however, found the scent to be peculiarly pleasant. It reminded him of the terrariums and aquariums he used to keep as a small boy. At any one time growing up he would have at least three or four extensive vivariums containing snakes, frogs, salamanders, slugs and occasionally arachnids when he could secure them. Piett had felt safe and comfortable surrounded by his amphibious and reptilian friends. They never laughed at him for being small. They never made him feel inadequate. 

Somehow this palace made him feel a bit...at home.

That soothing feeling soon vanished as they walked past several smaller corridors, filled with the horrific sounds of whips cracking, beasts roaring, and poor souls crying out in all manner of languages.

“Stay close,” Tarkin whispered and immediately Piett huddled close to his superior officer.

Despite his near skeletal frame and not being a young man, by any means, Wilhuff Tarkin exuded a fierceness about him that made Piett feel safe. As long as Tarkin was with him, Piett knew everything would work out alright. 

Besides, when had his plans ever gone wrong before?

“Wait. I will announce you,” Bib said, in clipped Basic, before disappearing through the doors of Jabba’s parlor. 

Tarkin leaned in close. “Keep your wits about you, Captain. We do not know what…” he exhaled sharply. “...what state we shall find Director Krennic. It is best to keep ourselves calm and stick to the plan.”

Piett eyed Tarkin curiously. Though Piett was indeed concerned about Krennic’s welfare - the director had been stuck in a Hutt palace for a few days now - he was sure whatever state Krennic was in would not affect his better judgement. 

Though, it occurred to Piett that the grand moff may, in fact, be reassuring himself more than the captain.

“Sir?” Piett ventured cautiously. “Are you alright?”

Tarkin bristled as if he was going to object to such a silly question, but instead his face softened, worry lining his weathered face. “No, not particularly. At worst I will find my husband’s corpse hanging as a trophy on the other side of these doors. At best, he may be encased in Carbonite like some sort of art piece. I am steeled for many things in this life, Firmus, but if anything has happened to him...”

Piett put a hand on Tarkin’s shoulder. “We will get him back, sir.”

“Thank you, captain.” Tarkin afforded Piett a brief smile before stiffening and shrugging off the comforting hand as the parlor doors swung open.

Piett’s jaw nearly hit the ground at the sight before him.

Tarkin let out a soft gasp.

“Sir...Director Krennic...he’s…”

“Yes, I can see him, thank you,” Tarkin snapped.

“Ah, most welcome guests,” Jabba said in broken Basic. “Come...come...you are in time for show…”

Krennic was in the middle of what seemed to be an erotic ribbon dance. 

Wearing nothing but a sheer gold loincloth and harness fitted around his broad chest, the scantily clad director pirouetted along the dance floor, long black and gray ribbons twirling around him. 

The grace in Krennic’s self-assured steps was positively hypnotizing. His arms and legs working in concert to the beat of the Bith band’s sensual tune. There was no stress in his movements, no desperation to please. 

Krennic’s eyes were half-closed, his focus drawn into the sway of the music; a slight smile on his lips.

He looked...like he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Piett knew Krennic’s reputation around the Empire was not a chaste one. Between his very successful adult newsletter “Ask Uncle Krennic” and his even more successful sex toys and accessories line, he had become a sexual lifesaver for many within the Empire and the Core Worlds. 

For the most part, Piett knew that Tarkin was a tolerant and supportive partner. He was the first investor in Krennic’s sex toy company, and tolerated being vaguely mentioned in a favorable light in the newsletter as well.

But this...this was something Tarkin would not tolerate. 

Piett cast a nervous glance at the grand moff. Though his face was obscured by the scarf, there was an undeniable furious inferno in those pale, gray eyes.

“Sir?” Piett whispered. 

Tarkin did not respond. His fists clenched as Krennic danced his way over to Jabba, hips snapping playfully, jingling the soft bells along his loincloth as if he were a living tambourine. 

“Governor,” Piett pressed. 

Krennic threw one of the ribbons around Jabba's neck and let it slither along the slug’s neck folds. Jabba shivered in delight, letting out a cheerful guffaw, swatting Krennic’s rear coaxing him back to the dance floor.

With a lightness to his step, Krennic continued to galavant around the parlor like he owned the place. In fact, Piett would have believed this was his parlor had there not been a long, golden chain connected from the director's bejeweled collar around his neck to Jabba the Hutt’s platform.  And yet the chain was so long Krennic had free range of the entire floor, flirting with a variety of unsavory folks sitting at tables enjoying his show. 

Krennic’s vibrant blue eyes fell upon the two newcomers and a lurid smile spread across his lips.

Piett dropped his gaze immediately, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks remembering that this was his superior’s husband, and, in fact, Krennic also severely outranked him as well. 

In perfect Huttese, Krennic asked, “ _ Shall I entertain our guests as well, your greatness? _ ”

Tarkin apparently did not need a translator to understand what Krennic was saying.

And the grand moff's entire body shook with anger. 

“Sir...we are just bounty hunters.” Piett whispered to the grand moff. “We are just looking to purchase-”

“Orson!” Tarkin shouted, ripping off his hat and scarf, throwing them to the ground. 

Krennic skidded to a halt, his face burst into a smile. “Wil!”

“Do not ‘Wil’ me, you arrogant little ass,” Tarkin snarled. “What do you think you are doing?”

Krennic wilted, fidgeting with the chain fused to his collar. “I was...entertaining the guests.”

“Entertaining?” Tarkin balked, marching forward and grabbing Krennic’s gold-bangled wrist. “We are getting out of here.  _ Now.” _

Jabba let out a gurgled of anger. In Huttese he roared. “ _ How dare you touch my favorite pet! Guards!” _

Before Piett could pull his blaster, the Gamorrean guards had already surrounded the two Imperials, grabbing Piett and Tarkin’s arms, binding their wrists tightly in rusty cuffs. Jabba gave a few tugs to Krennic’s chain and the director gave Tarkin a helpless look before retreating  to the hutt’s side. 

Tarkin bristled, baring his teeth. “Release him,  _ now,  _ o r face the wrath of the Empire.” Tarkin shot an expectant look at Piett. “Tell him!”

Piett stammered out Tarkin’s words in Huttese.  Jabba’s round, almond eyes widened in fury. 

“ _ I do not care for your petty Empire’s wrath, nor do I believe they would siege my palace for this one human. Krennic has cost me a great deal of money and resources. He stays with me until I am done with him _ .”

Upon Piett's translation, Tarkin's eyes narrowed.  “Orson…”

“It was for the good of the company!” Krennic whimpered, his leash now held taut by the hutt. “I… may have sabotaged the Hutt Cartel's sensual toy enterprise to boost my own sales in the Outer Rim...and seized a few of their factories to manufacture my own products.”

Tarkin’s nostrils flared. “This is so like you,” He spat. “You have no regard for anyone, but yourself.” 

Disregarding the fact his wrists were cuffed behind him, Tarkin lunged at Krennic. 

Jabba pulled Krennic close to him, protectively.  “ _ Enough! Throw them into the Rancor Pit. They are upsetting my new pet _ ,” Jabba growled.

Tarkin whirled to Piett. “What did that overgrown slug say?”

Piett sweated, not wanting to add fuel to Tarkin’s temper by telling him Jabba considered Krennic "his new favorite pet". He also was not keen on being Rancor food either. 

_ Think, Firmus, think!  _

Hutts were very particular about manners, he knew that much. Though they themselves did not appear to possess an ounce of etiquette whatsoever, their philosophy on proper Hutt behavior was very specific. 

It was a longshot, but…

Piett squirmed away from the Gamorrean guards and rushed forward, falling to his knees before the large hutt.

In Huttese, Piett gushed out his praise. “ _ Great Jabba! Wonder of the Dune Sea, He Who Slithers for No Man, He Who Leads and Rules and Embodies Power, Jabba the Wise and Jabba the Generous. Please, allow us to come clean with our intentions and not insult your intelligence further _ .”

The Gamorreans seized Piett’s shoulders, but the captain wriggled away from their meaty grasp.  The bindings dug hard into Piett’s slender wrists as he bent himself as low as possible in a submissive position.

“ _ Please, I beg you, great one _ .”

He felt the rough hands of the guards once again and braced himself to be yanked to his feet.

“ _ Leave him be _ .” Jabba commanded.

Piett did not dare lift his head as the guards backed away. 

“ _ Continue, little one _ ,” Jabba coaxed.

Piett had to play his cards just right. It was risky to uncover their identities to a known gangster such as Jabba the Hutt, however, it was either this or be thrown to a hungry Rancor. Perhaps being held for ransom was a more preferable alternative.

Focusing on his own knees, Piett continued. “ _ We are Officers of the Galactic Empire. Your ‘pet’ is the husband to my superior, Grand Moff Tarkin _ .”

Though Tarkin could not understand Huttese, he absolutely recognized Piett mentioning his name. 

“You traitorous…”

Piett whirled back and shot Tarkin a warning look so sharp that the grand moff pursed his lips and sat back on his heels quietly.

Piett resumed his humble posture. “ _ Krennic has done you a great offense, Lord Jabba. How can we make this up to you? _ ”

Jabba was silent for a long moment, and Piett dared to glance up at the hutt. His heart lurched to see those round amber eyes studying him closely. As if caught in a snare, Piett held his gaze, his own tired caramel eyes locked with those rich reddish-brown orbs that shone with superior intelligence and a deep...understanding…

Truth be told no one had ever looked at Piett like the hutt was looking at him now. 

A look so soft...and thoughtful...

Remembering his place, Piett lowered his gaze again. 

“ _ How do you know Huttese, little one _ ?” Jabba asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

Piett flustered for a moment. “ _ I...taught myself, your greatness. _ ”

“ _ Of any language in the galaxy you chose the tongue of my people? _ ”

“ _ It is a strong, powerful language, your greatness, _ ” Piett said, in all honesty. “ _ It is an honor to speak it with a hutt, at last. You are, in fact, the first I have ever conversed with. _ ”

Jabba let out an audible sound of awe. “ _ I am impressed at your aptitude. I am also intrigued by your manners, so very polite for a human _ .”

Piett smiled bashfully at the ground. “ _ Trust me, your greatness, the most intriguing thing about me is my politeness _ .”

The hutt let out a jovial “ _ ho, ho, ho, ho _ .”

“What is  _ happening _ , captain,” Tarkin whispered through clenched teeth, wary of interrupting a conversation that seemed to be going well.

Piett ignored Tarkin, silently hoping to be forgiven for his insolence later. 

“ _ Guards, this is no way to treat my guests _ ,” Jabba gurgled in amusement. “ _ Uncuff them and let us see if we can strike a deal with the glorious Empire _ .”

Piett turned to Tarkin, translating Jabba’s words as the Gamoreans pulled him and the grand moff to their feet, freeing them of their bindings.

“ _ Grand Moff Tarkin _ ,” Jabba mused. “ _ You take great risks in coming here for this pathetic whelp. _ ”

Piett sighed and translated to Tarkin in Basic.

Tarkin drew in a deep breath, “I agree with you, your...greatness. Yet, he is my husband and his place is at my side, not as your pet. You understand…”

Piett shifted uncomfortably as Jabba’s deep amber eyes seem to scrutinize Piett as he translated for the moff.

Jabba snorted. “ _ I do...I do...I am not here to break up families unnecessarily, however, Krennic has greatly damaged my business by using your Empire to seize my factories in the Outer Rim. I do not deal with the Empire often, but I would imagine you would not want the image of your Empire sullied by his actions either, yes _ ?”

Tarkin listened to Piett’s translation carefully, nodding all the while. 

“I am a reasonable man, Jabba, I am very open to any terms you may suggest so long as Krennic is returned to me.”

After Piett was finished translating a silence hung in the air.

Jabba seemed to be mulling over his options. Piett cared little for what the outcome would be so long as he and his superior officers were allowed to leave. 

_ Give them a bloody tour of the Death Star, a pair of Krennic’s knickers, anything, just let us go. _

Jabba’s eyes caught Piett’s gaze once again.

And once again Piett had a hard time looking away.

“ _ I only ask for two things in return, Grand Moff Tarkin _ ,” Jabba said, his eyes never leaving the captain’s. “ _ That my Outer Rim’s factories are allowed to reopen and operate free of the Empire’s control and _ …” He waved a fleshy arm towards Piett. “ _ That I may have dinner with your fascinating interpreter here.” _

Piett’s mouth fell open.

“Well? What is it, captain?” Tarkin asked, arching an eyebrow.

The moment Piett translated the second request Tarkin was already shaking his head.

“No. Absolutely not...I-”

“ _ Just dinner? _ ” Piett asked in Huttese.

“Captain!” Tarkin barked.

Jabba’s wide mouth curled into a smile. “ _ Just dinner and conversation, little one _ .”

A peculiar warmth spread across his chest at the way Jabba addressed him.

_ Little one… _

There was no mockery in the name. It seemed...endearing.

“ _ Agreed _ ,” Piett said in Huttese then turned to Tarkin, switching to Basic. “Sir, this is the best deal we are going to get and we are lucky he is being so generous. A single meal with a Hutt is not a bad deal.”

Tarkin narrowed his eyes. “ _ Just _ dinner…” he snarled, then turned to Jabba. “and he returns to my shuttle the moment he finishes his last bite.”

Piett repeated Tarkin’s words in Huttese.

Jabba nodded. “ _ I will be a perfect gentleman _ .” He angled his head towards Piett. “ _ You honor me, Captain… _ ”

“...Piett,” Piett swallowed. “Firmus Piett.”

“Fir...mus…” The words came out slow and clunky on the Hutt’s tongue.   


Piett found himsel fighting back a shy smile.

“May I stay for dinner as well?” Krennic asked. “I am famished.” 

“No,” Tarkin and Piett said together.

With a small pout, Krennic slipped his arms around Tarkin and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for rescuing me, Wil.”

“This was hardly a rescue,” Tarkin said sarcastically, taking off his long coat and draping it over Krennic’s bare shoulders. Piett watched Tarkin’s hands linger on Krennic’s shoulders, squeezing them affectionately. “I am glad you are safe, Orson.”

Krennic put a hand on Tarkin’s. “Really, Wil...thank you for coming for me...”

“I always will, for my spoiled prince…” Tarkin sighed and leaned in to kiss his husband before noticing Piett was watching. Instead he stiffened and gave Krennic a little shove. “Let us get you back to the shuttle.”

“I will be along soon,” Piett reassured them.

Tarkin looked back at Piett, then glanced over at the gangster whose amber eyes seemed glued to his captain.

“Be cautious, Captain,” he said. “I do not know if I have the energy to rescue two of my officers in one day.”


End file.
